Desperate Times
by laughandlove
Summary: After an argument and a trip to the bar on Dean's part, Sam's taken hostage from the motel. It could be a life and death situation for the youngest Winchester...mid-season 3, torture, angst - two-shot.
1. Part 1

**This is just a two-shot to stem the creative juices...still working on my other fic "The Hell Woods", but occasionally I get a bit tired of writing the same plot – just felt like writing a nice little angsty two-shot! One of those "write as you go with nothing but an idea in the head" things...so as a result of that lack of organization, it'll very likely be jumbled and rambling. The next and final chapter will ideally be updated within the next couple of days…I'm trying to improve on that! Oh well...here goes…**

**Disclaimer: Oh, don't we all wish that we owned them? It would make life so much more enjoyable...but alas, nope. Not mine. *sigh* Just borrowing them for a bit! I'll return them in good condition, although maybe a bit battered. *cue evil laugh***

**Set mid season 3, during Sam's obsessive and Dean's reckless phases. Because that's just oh so much fun to work with! (aka, before DALDoM - when Dean admitted he didn't want to go to hell).**

* * *

"You sure you don't want to come?" Dean Winchester raised his eyebrows at his younger brother, a sort of last-ditch attempt to gain some company for the night. Upon receiving simply a grunt and a slight shake of Sam's shaggy head in return, Dean sighed. He took a few steps toward his younger brother, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Seriously dude? You're really not going?"

The younger Winchester looked up at his brother, brow furrowed and face etched with confusion. "No Dean, I'm not. And you want to know why?" His voice was laced with sarcasm, and held an obvious tone – as if Dean should know automatically what his reasons were.

Dean gave a slight nervous laugh, raising his arms in a gesture of defeat. "I don't know, Sammy. Why?"

Sam shook his head, laughing with disbelief. "You just don't get it, Dean." He slammed the large volume he was reading shut, abruptly pushing back his chair and standing up straight. "You're dying in less than 6 months now and you just want to go out drinking like nothing's wrong."

"Dude, that's kind of _why_ I'm drinking. You know, the whole 'have fun, live it up before I die' thing. Sam, I'm sorry but I'm not spending my last days locked up in a motel room. I've had enough of that for a lifetime."

"Yeah, well while you 'live it up', I'm trying to save your life, man. So excuse me for choosing to stay in instead of hitting the bar." His tone, though full of anger and frustration, was more indicative of pain and sadness. His breath began to hitch, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped - staring with large and expressive eyes at his brother.

Dean's face softened, the corners of his mouth twitching. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Sam, I told you to let up on that friggin' research. I mean Jesus, you told me you were just reading some insignificant book. You're torturing yourself with this! You can't be staying up all night, poring over meaningless medieval ritualistic lore or whatever crap that is." He walked over to the table, confiscating Sam's ancient hardcover before the younger brother could stop him.

"_Faust_? What the hell is that?" Dean skimmed through the thin and dusty pages, face scrunched up in confusion.

Sam stormed over, grabbing the volume from Dean's hand and throwing it on the nearest bed. "It's about deal making. Crossroads. Could be a way to save you, if you'd let me try! I mean come on, do you seriously want to die? You're ready to just give up, to go to hell?"

"Yeah Sam, I am. It was my decision. I made the deal, it's set in stone, and that's the way it is. And I'm not letting you drop dead trying to break the damned thing, so stop trying to interfere, alright? Just – stop. You have to let me go, Sammy."

Sam just stared at his brother, mouth open as if to say something, and eyes widened with pain. Unwanted tears were welling up, and he blinked furiously; breaking his Dean's gaze and looking away. "Fine, Dean. Okay? Fine. Just...go."

"Sam, I–"

"–Go," he repeated, teeth clenched. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the puke-green carpeting with blank eyes.

Dean shook his head side to side, looking up at the ceiling and running his hands over his face. "Okay," he said quietly. "Fine. But you can bet your ass that we're talking about this later."

"Can't wait," said Sam sarcastically.

Sighing, Dean turned and left, shutting the door a little louder than was perhaps necessary behind him.

Sam listened for the creak of the front door and the roar of the Impala's engine, and once he was sure that his brother had left he collapsed back on the bed, letting a few pent-up tears flow. Suddenly completely exhausted, both physically and mentally, he shut his eyes; hoping sleep would find him.

He would apologize to Dean in the morning. They would talk about this rationally; Sam couldn't afford to alienate his brother at this point. As if the looming threat of Dean's doomsday wasn't enough of an emotional burden, going through that slow torture without an honest an open relationship with him would be completely unbearable. They got through things together. Separate, they were incomplete.

**oo00O00oo**

Jasper Mantigo paced the darkened motel room, pulling at his short dark hair in impatience. Turning suddenly on his heel, he turned toward his partners.

"Well, is he gone yet?"

"Yeah! Yeah, he's driving away now boss," said the shorter man peering out the drapes.

"Great Silva, that's great. It'll be time soon." Jasper rubbed his hands together in excitement, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his body. "Adrean? Lenny? You guys set?"

The younger one of the group, blonde and well-built, spoke first. Lenny. "Just finishing filling the syringe. Dosage this big and we'll have the guy out in seconds." He glanced up at his boss and mentor, blue eyes glistening with anticipation.

"And Adrean?"

"Rope's cut, Jasp. Even pieces. I got the duct tape too. Ready when you are." Adrean, too, glanced at his leader, but rather than with eyes as eager and excited as Lenny's, his were dark, beady, and hardened. He had years of experience under his belt, with the scars to prove it.

"I'm ready too, boss," shouted the last member of the group. Silva. Scrawny and somewhat underwhelming in physical mass, he made up for it with is insatiable sadistic tendencies. He was staring intently at a chest full of implements, silver and metallic, obviously entranced by their mere presence in front of him. "They're all polished. All sharpened. Each and every one."

Jasper was really getting excited now. "Well let's get to it, gentlemen."

**oo00O00oo**

"Lemme have another one." Dean was beginning to slur his words, the room was starting to spin, but he didn't care. He had to forget about things. At least until tomorrow.

"I think you may have had enough, Casanova," smiled the bartender.

"Aww sweetheart, I know what my limit is. Not nearly there yet. Now another–" Dean raised his eyebrows seductively, leaning over the table and looking deep into the eyes of the beautiful woman in front of him, "–and I may get close." He grinned widely, alcohol lessening his already nearly nonexistent inhibitions.

His charms worked. As they always did. "Guess one or two wouldn't hurt then, gorgeous." The bartender grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the shelf, pouring a generous portion into the cup in front of her.

"Call me Dean," replied the eldest Winchester. "Though I'll go by 'gorgeous', if that's what you prefer." He smiled stupidly, completely in the moment.

"Linda," finished the blonde simply, a laugh on her lips. "Well you're quite the tool, Dean. I see there isn't an ounce of arrogance in your body."

Though it was obviously a sarcastic comment, Dean went along with the charade. "'Course not. Modesty is the best policy."

"Think you have that a bit mixed up there mister, it's supposed to go 'honesty is the best policy'." Giggling, Linda leaned in closer to Dean, exposing ample cleavage.

"Yeah, well honesty's a bit harder for me sometimes," muttered Dean. Linda quieted. Realizing he had changed the mood from playful to serious, Dean compensated. "But honestly, right now you are the most beautiful thing I've seen in weeks."

"Is that right?"

"That's right," verified Dean, wearing his signature cocky smirk.

"My shift ends in 5 minutes," whispered Linda in Dean's ear. "How about we go back to my place?"

Dean just grinned.

**oo00O00oo**

_Jessica was running toward him, white nightgown rustling in the cool spring breeze. She was surrounded by flowers and sunshine, beauty radiating from her skin._

_"Sam..." her voice was full of happiness, breathy with anticipation._

_"Jess...oh God, Jess..." And Sam was running now, through the tall green grass and bed of wildflowers, running toward the love of his life. They were getting closer and closer, and Sam could feel his heart fluttering with the pure desire to hold her again in his arms. He could see her golden locks streaming over her shoulders, her beautiful eyes glistening in the sun, rosy cheeks alive with vitality._

_But then she stopped. Her face, previously smiling, had fallen. She furrowed her brow and tilted her head, as if she didn't recognize him._

_"You're...different," she stated dryly, slowly moving backwards._

_"What? Jess...I-I__–__"_

_"__–__No," she finished sadly. "No. You're wrong now. Changed. You will not end up here with me, with us." And just then, figures appeared behind her, pearly and opalescent. His mother. His father. Caleb. Pastor Jim._

_Sam felt the tears form. "No, but I didn't – I don't – I don't want__–__"_

_"-But you will, Sam. You're corrupted. You're evil. Dean's going to hell because of you, and it's not even worth it! You didn't deserve to be brought back, you're destined for an awful future...nobody can save you now." The kindness was gone from her voice, replaced by a vicious malice. She closed her eyes, and when they reopened, they were black. Demonic._

"Nooo! NOO!"

**oo00O00oo**

"Godamnit," cursed Jasper. "The kid's awake, he's screaming." He crouched down in front of the motel room door, placing a silencing finger over his lips and encouraging his buddies to do the same. "We've gotta rush him, guys – quick and dirty. We might not have much time till his idiot brother gets back."

He looked over at the three other men, gauging their preparedness. "Lenny? You got the syringe set?"

"Ready to go, boss," he answered with satisfaction. "Potent enough to take down an elephant."

"Good...good. Boys, get behind me, and for the love of God shut the hell up. You remember the plan?" All men nodded. "Alright, just follow behind me."

Jasper shakily knelt in front of the doorknob, picking the old and rusted lock easily with a paperclip. Raising a cautionary hand back to his partners, he slowly turned the doorknob, opening the entrance to the room and stepping into a shroud of darkness. He motioned for the others to follow. Tiptoeing cautiously in, the four men set about implementing their plan.

**oo00O00oo**

Sam jolted awake, body covered in a cold sweat. Jesus Christ, these nightmares had to stop. Rubbing his tired eyes with a shaking hand, Sam stopped dead as he noticed 4 dark figures standing at the other end of the room. Heart climbing into his throat, he gulped down his fear – maybe it was just Dean, coming back with a few – buddies? Wait, no. Dean didn't make buddies. He wasn't one to make connections like that, not with his dark past and his issues with commitment. He always came back alone.

No. It wasn't Dean.

Sam sat bolt upright, throwing the covers off his legs and reaching for the light switch – damnit, where the hell was the thing? His hand fumbled in the dark, desperate and trying to cling to something. But the darkness was too absolute, he couldn't see anything at all, couldn't access his weapons on the other end of the room...

He heard the footsteps getting closer, becoming more rapid. The men were jogging toward him now, running – they were going to tackle him. Overpower him.

"Who are you?" he yelled into the darkness. "What the hell do you want?" He stood up, stumbling in the darkness but still ready to defend himself.

It was Jasper who answered. "We want something you have," he said with a sneer. "And boy, we're going to get it."

Sam wouldn't remember later what happened next. All he knew was that he was knocked to the floor by unseen assailants, held down by force, and stabbed with something sharp in his right arm.

And then everything went dark.

**oo00O00oo**

Dean was on a high. He knew it was wrong that he depended on one-night stands for fulfillment, for one night of love and affection without attachments, but old habits died hard.

And this one did have its...benefits. Linda was beautiful, intelligent, witty, and she liked him. He liked her too, he really did. But he could never have a relationship, for reasons too numerous to count.

"Are you leaving?" came a call from the bathroom.

"Um, yeah," he shouted back, buttoning up his shirt at the same time. "I've gotta get going." He looked up as Linda entered the room, brushing her hair. "You have my number, right Dean?"

He gave a fake smile. "Yep. Yep, I've got it."

"Good," she smiled, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "You'd better call me, gorgeous."

"You've got it," he forced. God, he hated lying to nice girls. "See ya Linda, thanks for a great night." He turned and walked out the door, pulling on his leather jacket and not bothering to look back.

He had to get back to Sam. He hadn't been planning on staying out all night, but hell – it may have just given them both a chance to cool down. He reached for his keys, looking forward to the drive back to the motel. The roar of the Impala's engine never got old.

Humming along to the music, he pulled into the parking lot of the Days Inn about a half hour later, having stopped to get Sam and himself some donuts and coffee for breakfast. It was the closest thing to an apologetic gesture as Dean could get.

Grabbing the small white bags that held their breakfast, Dean shut the creaking metal door of the car and walked up to their door, opening it with his free hand.

Expecting to see Sam still sleeping, he was a bit thrown off when he found the sheets rustled yet the bed empty. No Sam.

"Sammy?" he called, placing the donuts and coffee on the small round table by the door. Kid must be in the bathroom or something.

Walking further into the room, Dean felt a jolt when he saw that the bathroom door was open and that the lights were off. If Sam wasn't in there, where the hell was he?

Maybe he went out to get breakfast too, had the same idea as Dean had. He'd just call and tell him to come back to the room, that there was no need.

Pulling out his cell, he dialed Sam's number and waited three rings for the line to pick up. There was silence on the other end, but he could hear breathing.

"Hello? Sam?"

"No, not Sam," replied the other voice scathingly.

Dean felt real fear burst through his chest. "Well then who the hell is it? Get me my brother, right now!"

"I'm not going to tell you who I am…or rather, who we are. You should know, though, that we have your brother – and he's not having fun at the moment. Here, listen for yourself."

Dean didn't breathe. He didn't move. He just gripped the phone with white knuckles, clenching his teeth and fighting back tears of fear.

There was a scream on the other end. Sam's scream.

"SAM! SAMMY!" Dean was panting out of terror and anger, fuming and seeing double. He heard a change over the line, and was suddenly aware that Sam's captor was again on the other end.

"You sonofabitch…you SONOFABITCH! I'm going to kill you, so help me God…let him go, right now, or you'll be wishing you were never born."

"I don't think you have that kind of leverage, Dean-o," replied the other voice calmly. You see, we can kill Sam much faster than you can kill us. And we will, if you're not willing to make a little bargain."

**TBC**

* * *

**Wow, this type of story is really different for me. And honestly, I have absolutely no idea why I started writing it – I have no time with school and work to get into additional projects…I mean jeez, I waited months to update the Hell Woods! But this is only a two shot, written in the wee hours of night after some massive homework cramming sessions, and I already know the exact plot for the next chapter. So it'll hopefully be only a couple of days…and to all the readers of the Hell Woods, I'm not taking priority over that; I'm at a bit of a writer's block there and need a bit more time to think. This was just something I had to get out of my head. Reviews would be much appreciated!**


	2. Part 2

**Okay, here's part 2! Haha, that's way quicker than usual. To all those who reviewed, thanks so much for the support! You guys are just great. And thanks to my silent readers as well – I know you're out there! But I'm just happy you're enjoying my story. Although…(hint, hint!)…if you liked it, drop me a quick line when you're finished reading! After all, reviews are a fanfic writer's only payment…I'll send you virtual chocolate if you send me feedback…not at all above bribing! Well, all that's left to say is thanks again, and hope that you enjoy. **

**By the way, this is a LONG chapter…the first one was setting up the story, and this is the continuation. To all those who feel there should be more, time restrictions are the only reason why I can't. Maybe later, however, I'll find the time to add a few more chapters. But that's sort of doubtful.**

* * *

Sam was somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. It was like floating in some sort of dream state. He could hear outside conversation, but was unable to really register the meaning of the words – and unable, as well, to open his eyes or to move. The room felt like it was spinning, a strange sensation since his eyes were closed and he was seated completely stationary. What the hell had those jerks injected into him? Whatever it was, it was strong.

"_Why isn't he waking up?"_

"_Give him time, give him time…he'll come to…"_

"_But I just want to get to it already! I'm itching to use these things…" Metallic clanging accompanied the words._

"_You'll get your chance, Silva. Besides, the longer we wait, the better. It'll give his douche bag of a brother a chance to realize what's up. This whole thing goes to the pits if the guy doesn't get worried, I was expecting him to call earlier than this." _

"_Yeah, he's probably planning on staying out all night…he seemed the gigolo type, from what we saw of him." A hint of disdain and disgust laced each word._

"_Well until he calls, all we've got is a kid tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth, passed out cold. Not much we can do with that." Though this man was obviously the boss and spoke with an air of authority, his disappointment was evident._

"_Why don't we call Dean first, boss? Why are we waiting for him to call us? Let's just do it, now!"_

"_No! You know the plan Silva, don't let your eagerness get the better of you. Dean needs that fear, needs to already have the panic in his system before he gets on the phone, knowing that his precious little brother is missing…it'll make him more likely to give in to our demands."_

"_You're right Jasp."_

"_As usual," amended the other man._

"_But we could still start torturing him earlier…" _

"_Before he's awake? What the hell kind of fun is that?"_

"_Guess it isn't," came the dejected response. _

"_Exactly. We just have to wait, an hour at most. Trust me, it'll be worth it."_

Sam wasn't in any sort of state to register the malice and danger behind the conversation taking place directly in front of him. The words just flew in one ear and out the other, making themselves known and then instantly forgotten.

But then it got quieter. All talking had ceased, and the dizziness had gone from Sam's head. He could now sense certain things about the situation; he felt tape over his mouth, rough rope binding his arms and legs, the aching of the arm that had received the injection, and the chill of the room's atmosphere.

His memory was coming back, too. He recalled waking up to find men in his room, remembered being tackled, held down, and knocked out with a potent drug.

And now he was here. He needed to be awake, to open his eyes. _Come on Sam, just do it…don't be weak, you need to save your ass…_

Then he did. The lids were heavy and hard to rise, and he felt like he was just waking up after years of sleep, but his eyes were open nonetheless. And now, he kind of wished they weren't. The first thing he saw was an open chest of metal implements: scalpels of different sizes, large knives, medical scissors, and – the most horrifying of all – a hand-held dental drill.

Jesus Christ, what were these guys planning on doing? And why the hell had they chosen him? He moaned through the tape, struggling uselessly against his tightly bound extremities. No way was he moving out of this chair. He glanced quickly around the room, trying to assess the other facts of the situation. It was small, cold, and grey – constructed of cement. There were no windows, but instead a large fan behind an imposing metal grate on the opposite end of where he was situated, who's turning blades cast alternating shadows over the walls. It looked like an abandoned meat freezer.

_How cliché_, Sam thought sardonically. _Typical torture chamber_. These guys obviously weren't all that creative. Though Sam vaguely remembered hearing snippets of conversation earlier, his captors now seemed to have left the room. He was currently alone, but he doubted it would be for long.

And surprise surprise, he was right. Barely ten minutes later, according to the large black and white clock on the wall next to him, he heard footsteps outside the room, steadily approaching. With a start as well, Sam realized it was now already 7:30 am. He had been here all night. Where the hell was Dean?

Sam felt his heartbeat accelerate with fear, and he again tried desperately to release himself. Eyes widening, he stared at the door as it opened, terrified of the men behind it.

Four people entered, the embodiment of the four crouched shadows he had seen earlier in his motel room. Instead of the fear Sam expected to feel upon seeing them, he suddenly felt a surge of anger, and pulled spectacularly against his restraints; straining his muscles and leaning back his head with the effort.

"How cute," said one of the men, clearly amused. "He thinks he can get away." He walked in front of the other men, tilting his head to the side and sneering. His hair was short and dark, and he was uncommonly tall and well-built. Large muscles strained underneath a white t-shirt.

Sam just struggled further, not caring whether or not the effort was meaningless. He wanted to let them know he was a fighter, not one willing to sit and take punishment.

"Boss, boss! He-he's awake!" Sam was slightly taken aback by the eagerness of the words. The guy could barely contain himself.

"I see that, Silva," sighed the other man. "Anything else obvious you wished to point out?"

"No, Jasper…I just, I really want…" Despite himself, Sam was amused by the sheer excitement radiating off of the guy. He seemed to be barely 5'5", nearly unhealthily underweight, and in short, one of the least threatening individuals Sam could possibly imagine. But something wasn't right about him, as he could only be excited at the promise of torture. Sam sighed. That was more than a little creepy.

"I know what you 'really want', Silva. And I promise you'll get your chance. But first, I want to say a few things to our guest here."

Sam rolled his eyes, trying as hard as he could to hide his fear and seem indifferent.

"You seem slightly annoyed, Sam."

Sam replied with the only vocal response he could, under the circumstances, and grunted in assent.

Jasper had pulled up a chair, and had now taken a seat directly in front of Sam; straddling the seat with his arms crossed over the back. "But don't worry, after a bit of torture, we'll have you thinking our way."

There were laughs of amusement from the other men in the room.

"Or at least," Jasper added, "too terrified and in pain to dare show us attitude."

Sam stopped struggling, staring intently into Jasper's eyes. It was a technique he had honed over the years, a way of trying to find the humanity of a person and letting them see yours, in return. Eye-to-eye contact sometimes shone light on the situation, snapping the person into reality.

And other times, it didn't. He got nothing out of Jasper but a laugh. "Oh, the soul-searching stare! You used to getting things you want with those puppy-dog eyes of yours? 'Cause let me tell you right now, that's not going to work with me."

Sam was getting fed up, and now was a bit more than scared – trying to hold back tears of frustration and terror. _"What do you want?" _he wanted to scream.

It came out as a series of grunts, thanks to the duct tape.

"You wanna talk?" asked Jasper. "Well I don't see why not…alright, let's talk." With a grin, he reached over and viciously yanked the tape from Sam's skin, leaving the area surrounding his mouth red and inflamed.

Though it was painful, Sam refused to relent. Once he had moved his mouth around a bit, rejuvenating his muscles, he stared once again into Jasper's eyes and spoke.

"What do you want, you sonofabitch?" he said in the most spiteful way possible. He hoped his fear didn't come through.

Jasper sighed, leaning back on the chair. "I want what most people want, no different. A material thing that you have, very valuable. And I'm planning on going through your brother to get it."

"What, by calling and asking him?"

"No, by having him call us." Jasper then pulled what was unmistakably Sam's cell phone out of his pocket. See, when he calls he'll probably know you're missing. He'll be worried, freaking out. We'll let him know we have you…and voilá! He'll do whatever we want. He calls the cops, we kill you. Simple as that."

"So what's the point of the torture?" Sam asked, trying to gain the upper hand. "Dean'll give you anything you want anyway. Knowing you even have me here, with the threat of killing me if he doesn't meet the demands, will be enough."

"That might be true," said Jasper thoughtfully, "but torture makes things more fun."

Sam laughed. "My brother will kill you if you hurt me," he said confidently. You're much better off leaving me be. You'll get what you want, and you'll live. But if he gets here and sees what you've done…" Sam let the sentence trail.

"What, he'll take down all four of us? Yeah, okay. See, I'm thinking he'll just motor on out of here, get your ass as far away from us as possible and leave. What a pathetic attempt at saving yourself Sam, trying to make us believe that your brother will kill us all single-handedly. What a story, what a story."

"Actually, it's true. But believe what you want to believe. You'll die, but I guess that's your prerogative."

"Jasp…" it was one of the two guys in the back, no older than late teens; with blonde hair, blue eyes, and – currently – a shaky expression on his face. "What if he's right? Maybe we should just call Dean, give him our demands…end this thing quickly. I don't want to get hurt."

"Lenny, who knew you were such a pansy? This guy's full of crap. He's a scared kid putting on a tough face. Now unless this big brother was militarily trained and comes in armed and ready – which I seriously doubt, my friend – we're fine. I've done this before. Someone tied up like this'll make up the craziest stories to save their hide. You can't buy into it."

"Actually, we were _both _militarily-trained, and I can guarantee you that Dean _will _come in armed and ready, Jasper," said Sam matter-of-factly.

"And you expect me to believe that?" said Jasper, face now full of anger. He was no longer entertaining Sam's argument, but seemed to be taking it personally. "That you two are friggin' green berets or something? Some kind of fighting machines? Yeah, that's why you guys just drive around like vagabonds and live in motels. Bravo Sam, you just told the most ridiculous lie I've ever heard."

Sam was quiet. This strategy had not gotten him where he wanted at all. If possible, he had made things worse – now Jasper was more eager than ever to torture him.

Just then, the cell rang. Jasper stared at Sam, sneer crossing over his face. "Silva, get set up," he said quietly. Without a word, the shorter man ran to Sam's side, grabbing a knife from the chest and holding it in front of Sam's face; silver glinting in the slight light of the room. Sam gulped.

The phone rang twice, three times. On the third ring, Jasper finally picked it up, and Sam noticed he put it on speakerphone.

"_Hello? Sam?" _Sam felt a burst of hope at hearing Dean's voice.

"No, not Sam." Jasper's reply was blood-chillingly bitter.

"_Well then who the hell is it? Get me my brother, right now!"_

"I'm not going to tell you who I am…or rather, who we are. You should know, though, that we have your brother – and he's not having fun at the moment. Here, listen for yourself."

Sam's eyes widened in fear…no…no…Silva was drawing the knife back…in a second, Sam felt the white hot pain as it dug into his shoulder, warm blood trailing down his arm. Silva ripped the blade out viciously, twisting it slightly as he did so.

Despite himself, Sam screamed in pain. His arm was on fire, his vision was spinning, he just wanted the pain to stop…

"_SAM! SAMMY! "You sonofabitch…you SONOFABITCH! I'm going to kill you, so help me God…let him go, right now, or you'll be wishing you were never born."_

Sam wanted to call out, to talk to his brother, to tell him that he was okay – but Silva placed a cold hand over his mouth, forcing him to stay quiet.

"I don't think you have that kind of leverage, Dean-o," replied the other voice calmly. You see, we can kill Sam much faster than you can kill us. And we will, if you're not willing to make a little bargain." Jasper was smiling now, apparently convinced that his plan would be carried out without a hitch. And also unconcerned about what he assumed to be an empty threat on Dean's part for murder.

"_What the hell kind of bargain? What do I possibly have that you want?"_

Despite the agonizing pain he was in, Sam was listening intently – curious as well as to what Jasper wanted so badly from them.

"Your car," replied Jasper simply.

There was silence on the other end. Then laughing of disbelief. _"Are you friggin' serious? You kidnap and torture my brother to get a _car_? If you don't have any money, try stealing one, you dumbass! Or earn your own money like a real goddamned man instead of resorting to kidnapping someone and holding them hostage. Jesus Christ, you are royally screwed up. You need some serious help, my friend."_

Jasper was obviously taken aback, but composed himself. "That's a rare car, Dean. A jewel. I saw you in it, I want it. Now you can condemn my methods all you want, but the fact is that if you don't get here within the next hour, you can say goodbye to Sammy. Oh, and call the cops – your brother gets his throat slit."

Again, there was silence as Dean contemplated a response. _"You're willing to kill my little brother to get some goddamned car? Where the hell is your humanity? It's your funeral, man._ _You get the Impala, no problem. But if you hurt Sam…I swear to God, there will be hell to pay."_

Sam understood what Dean was doing. He was killing this jackass regardless, as he had already kidnapped and hurt Sam – and would be a threat in the future if he wasn't taken care of. Tell him that and he'd be prepared for attack, ready to retaliate when he arrived. He was playing the peace card, complying with the demand – and trying to save Sam from further torture in the process. Dean would give up the car in a second to save Sam's life, but the Impala was safe anyway. Dean would just take it back once he wiped everyone out.

Jasper, however, seemed unable to believe that Dean was a threat. "Sorry buddy, we can't promise not to hurt Sam. See, he'll be tortured for as long as it takes you to get here…hopefully that'll speed things up a bit. Not too scared of this 'hell to pay' business, to tell you the truth. I think you're some scared kid acting bigger than his britches. Well guess what, not buying it. Sammy here's in for a store of pain."

There was a hiss on the other end. Then Sam heard Dean's voice as he had never heard it before. _"You're dead. You're all dead, each and every one of you."_ It was a statement of fact. And knowing Dean as Sam knew him, he meant it.

"Well, you and your brother sure are persistent, I give you that. But there's no way you're taking down all four of us, buddy. And if you try and bring friends, Sam's dead before you even come in. Cut the macho bullshit, will ya? Just come and give us the car. We'll give you Sam, although no promises he makes it through the torture. Quicker you get here, the less _fun_ we have with him."

"_Yeah, and where is 'here'?"_ barked Dean. _"Got an address, you effing sonofabitch?"_

"If you're as smart as your brother says you are and as you seem to think, you'll find us."

"_Yeah, and if you want me to make it here in an hour, you'd better tell me, genius. Apparently Sam dies if I'm not there in an hour, right? And what are you left with then? A dead body and cops on your trail. Yeah, that's useful."_

Jasper sighed. Dean obviously had a one-up. "Fine, you persistent bastard. We're at 203 Pine Grove road, 'bout forty-five minutes without traffic from your little motel there. You'd better get a move-on, Dean." _Click. _

Jasper hung up the phone, staring at Sam angrily. "You and your brother are really grating my nerves, Sammy boy. You know, I've been watching you for a couple of days now, ever since I saw that car drive on into town, and I never took you for stupid. Piss-poor maybe, white trash most definitely, but not stupid. Your non-compliance and death threats are starting to get mighty irritating."

"Yeah, and I'm not at all irritated that I'm being tortured by a bunch of rednecks just so they can get their hands on some car they can't afford otherwise. What a friggin' stupid reason to kidnap someone, guys. I've seen a lot of things in my life, hell I've even been kidnapped a few times, but this is a new low. I mean, did you ever consider just _breaking into_ the car? That would probably have been a lot easier. Just an idea."

Sam didn't know where this confidence was coming from. He knew they were going to torture him, but he also knew Dean was on his way. And that gave him strength. His arm still bled heavily, pain radiating throughout his body, but Sam had had ample time over the course of his life to learn how to tolerate pain.

"Well mister high-and-mighty, there's something that you're missing in all this. It's not just the car, you idiot. See, we just like an excuse for torture. We have you all to ourselves now and can do whatever we want – and we get a prize when it's all said and done!" Jasper's eyes seemed to hold a fire, and they gleamed with eagerness.

Jesus Christ, people were crazy.

**oo00O00oo**

Dean cursed to himself as he ran out of the room, heart thudding in his chest. This was the friggin' _second_ time Sam had been kidnapped by unstable humans. There was something inherently wrong with that, on so many different levels. Seriously, the car? _"Give me your car or I'll kill your brother?" _What did they expect him to say, "no"? Did they think he'd rather keep his car than save his brother? Screw humans. They were all goddamned insane.

Dean got in the car, panting heavily and trying not to think about the fact that Sam was being tortured at this very moment. If he stopped to consider it, no way would he be able to operate the car, let alone concentrate enough to follow directions. He had gone on Sam's laptop, typed in the address, and figured out that he needed to go south on the main road to reach the turnoff, then take a complicated series of left and rights once he got to the correct area; he needed to be on his game. The internet search had taken a full five minutes, thanks to the snail's pace of the computer. That was five minutes more that Sam was tortured with who knew what.

Feeling a hot tear blaze down his cheek despite his efforts to control his emotions, Dean raced out of the parking lot, hoping that his excessive speeding didn't get him pulled over.

_I'm coming, Sammy. Just hold strong._

**oo00O00oo**

The stupidity of the situation was almost overriding Sam's fear of the promise of torture that lay before him. Four guys, just looking for an excuse to capture some random victim and torture him, had somehow found him and Dean by means of the Impala's appeal. Seriously, what was with their bad luck? Were they both born cursed or something? This was starting to get ridiculous. He spun his head slowly around, met with the eager eyes of his captors. They were all staring at him greedily, grins creeping onto their faces.

_Oh great, looks like this'll go in rounds. _

His guess proved correct. "Gentlemen, have you all decided your manner of torture?" asked Jasper. There were grunts and laughs of assent. "Well, let's get started then shall we? I think I'll go first…"

With that declaration, Jasper reached back and punched Sam full in the face. It was then that Sam realized the guy was wearing iron knuckles. He truly was a sadistic bastard.

Sam felt his skull jerk violently to the side, his skin splitting on the site of impact. Hot blood flowed down his face, now swelling from the force of the swing. He spit out a mouth full of blood, and was horrified to see a tooth come with it. But Sam didn't shout or cry; he just stared at Jasper with an indifferent expression. He'd had worse.

Jasper flexed his knuckles, looking back with a grin at the rest of the group. "Next?"

Wordlessly, Silva stepped forward, scalpel in hand. His smile was manic, face distorted into an expression of complete madness. Sam instantly tensed, preparing for the worst. And then it came. Silva pulled up Sam's shirt, exposing his stomach, and then pushed through the blade through his abdomen, hard and deep. He seemed to be carving something in the skin, but Sam was in too much agony to sense what it was. Black spots blurred his vision, and he thought he would pass out…_please, just let me pass out…I don't want to feel anymore…_

Silva looked as if he wanted to do more, but was cut off by a harsh word from Jasper. "Wait until it's your turn again," was the sharp demand. Silva bowed his head, taking his place at the back of the line.

Next came Lenny. It took all the strength Sam had to raise his head and stare the young man in the eye, a sign that he was not yet defeated. Looking slightly nervous – yet determined all the same to follow his boss' orders – Lenny lifted a silver mallet from the chest of implements, large and incredibly heavy. He pulled the weapon back over his head, and Sam knew what was going to happen before it did. He clenched his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together so hard that it hurt. The mallet traveled through the air, gaining speed, and then landed on Sam's arm; breaking the bone and splitting his flesh.

Sam thought he screamed, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure if he was awake anymore, if he was alive anymore. But he must have been, because he could still feel the pain. Oh God, the pain. That's all there was, all Sam was aware of. He was now leaning back, eyes rolling behind his head.

"And Adrean? You set?"

Sam heard the banging of heavy boots stamping over the hard cement of the room as the last man approached the chair, then with horror heard the motor of a tiny electrical drill – the one he had spotted earlier.

_No, no, no, no…_

His mouth was roughly pried open, letting loose a dribble of blood down his chin from the previous injuries he had sustained, and the instrument was shoved into his mouth and onto his back molar. His head exploded with agony, the sound of the whirring drill amplifying in his head and drowning out his senses. _Please just let me die…please…_

But he didn't die. And the cycle just continued.

_Dean…_

**oo00O00oo**

Dean was driving faster than he had ever driven in his life. He wasn't even looking at the gauge, but just staring intently ahead through the windshield. He thanked God for the lack of traffic and the utter isolation of the town; cops were fairly few and far between in this neck of the woods. They were in the middle of Nowheresville, Indiana, someplace with a crime rate of virtually zero.

Dean pressed down harder on the gas.

He kept looking down at the clock, to the point in which it became almost a nervous twitch. A half-hour had passed. Thirty-five minutes. Why the hell wasn't he there? It was supposedly forty-five minutes away, and he was going way over the speed limit…he should have seen the turn…

And there it was. The car squealed as Dean jerked the steering wheel violently to the right, and Dean cursed as he was forced to slow down and make the proper turn-offs through the neighborhood. Left, then a right one mile ahead; then another right, two more lefts…he was getting closer. 195. 197. 200. There it was – house 203.

A large shed stood beside the run-down building, and Dean knew that it must be where these assholes were keeping Sam. He stopped the car abruptly, threw open the door, and opened the trunk – grabbing two .45s, one for himself and one to throw to Sam, if needed, as well as a machete – more to instill fear than to kill – and a hunting knife, to cut Sam free. He sprinted through the front door, planning on bursting in instantly, no holds barred. He couldn't give these bastards a chance to prepare themselves.

He didn't announce his entrance, but simply kicked down the door – walking in what appeared to be an abandoned meat locker. Why the hell these guys would have a meat locker in their backyard, Dean had no clue. But he really didn't care.

Because right before him, not more than a fifteen feet away, sat Sam. Head leaning down towards his chest, panting heavily, and covered in blood. Dean raised both guns, a move reminiscent of Lara Croft – then, saying nothing, he fired.

The first shot hit Lenny in the shoulder, sending him toppling and rolling in agony. He then shot both of Silva's feet, stopping the man from further approaching Sam – and also sending him falling to the floor, allowing for the cement floor to knock him unconscious. Adrean hurled himself at Dean, but was stopped dead – literally – by a shot to the head.

Dean was now pointing both weapons directly at a very startled and terrified Jasper. Something about his appearance gave him away, because Dean knew immediately who he was.

"It's you," he sneered. "You're the goddamned effing ringleader of this whole sad charade. Well guess what, bucko – you messed with the wrong guys. What was your plan once I got here? Did you think I'd just give you the car and walk away?"

Jasper was silent, slowly backing against the wall.

"DID YOU?" Dean continued. "After what you did to my brother? I'm sorry to break it to you, but you're not getting the car. In fact, I think I'll just give you a bullet in the head – like your buddy here. I'd like to torture you a bit, throw you around, but I don't quite have the time for that – it seems that I really need to check on my brother, after what you did to him, you goddamned sonofabitch."

"Please…no…I'm sorry…should have…should have listened to Sam…"

"Sam _is_ the smart one. I'm guessing you didn't make it past the third grade, bucko. What did he tell you, you asshole?"

"Said…said you'd kill me if you hurt him…you were trained…I should have known, never should have messed with you…all the others just come and beg me to stop, then leave…I didn't know…I'll pay for the hospital bill…"

"Yep, you should've listened – 'cause he was right. I'm not like all the others. You hurt him, you die. And I don't want your goddamned dirty money, take it with you to the grave. Hope torturing an innocent kid was worth it, you sadistic scumbag. Rot in hell." With those final words, Dean fired – the shot knocked back Jasper with force, forming a perfectly round hold in the center of his head.

"As for you two," Dean said, referring to the moaning and writhing forms of Silva (who seemed to have regained consciousness) and Lenny, "I think I'll leave you here for a while. And I suggest you think long and hard about your life, maybe get some therapy. But if I hear of any more out of you – believe me, I'll be scouring the newspaper – I'm going to hunt you down personally and kill the both of you. Is that clear?"

There was no response except for a slight whimpering. Dean just nodded in satisfaction, then ran over to Sam – lightly tapping the sides of his face. "Sammy? Sam? You okay?" He felt like he was going to vomit. His little brother was barely recognizable through all the blood covering his body, and Dean noticed that his t-shirt was stuck to the skin of his abdomen, bloody letters that spelled out the word "pain" seeping into the fabric. Oh God…_please let him be okay, please let him be okay…_

It felt like an eternity before Dean got his response – though it was probably only a couple of seconds. Sam's head lifted, eyes fluttering open. "D-d-ean... 'm…s-o-o-rry."

Dean let out a deep breath. "Jesus Christ Sammy, sorry for what?" he exclaimed. Although he already knew – Sam was referring to their last fight, the last words that could have been spoken between the two of them had things had gone differently.

"No, I'm sorry Sam. I shouldn't have left you alone all night, I should have come right back. God, this is all my fault."

"N-not y-ur f-f-ault…" Sam sputtered.

"Shh, shh…" cooed Dean, running his hand through Sam's hair. "Don't talk, just close your eyes and rest…it'll all be okay…"

Dean gently cut through the ropes binding Sam's arms and legs, then carefully lifted his brother into his arms in a fireman's hold. It was difficult with someone so big, yet it was necessary to minimize movement and to keep him stable.

He struggled to the car, carrying his brother in the same way he had carried him all those years ago from their burning house.

"It's okay Sam, I'm here. I'm here."

**oo00O00oo**

**1 month later**

"God, it's good to be free from that prison." Sam leaned back into the passenger seat of the Impala, breathing in the spring air and basking in the sun coming from the window.

"Dude, that prison saved your life. You should be grateful to Sylvester Ogdilone for paying the bill too, man. That place ain't cheap."

"I can't believe that people keep buying those insane names we come up with, dude," mused Sam.

"Yeah, well I came in there carrying you, half-conscious and bleeding all over the friggin' place. I don't think they cared much about our names, they just wanted you out of that waiting room." Dean smirked, glancing over at his brother. But Sam's face had now turned serious. He shifted in his seat so he was facing Dean's position, cast draped awkwardly over the median.

"About that, Dean. Thank you. You really came through…I didn't know if I'd ever see you again…I didn't want the last moment I had with you to be a fight, man. I'm sorry about that night." Sam had held this in during the hospital stay, knowing that they'd both had enough drama at the moment to bring in more. But he had to get this out.

"Dude, you shouldn't be sorry," said Dean softly. "I royally screwed up. I wasn't listening, I just stormed out and left…I never should have gone. I just wanted you to understand, Sam, wanted you to _see _that there's nothing about this deal that you can fix; and if there is. I don't want you to try. I can't lose you again, you're stronger than me."

"What makes you think I can live without _you_, Dean?" asked Sam angrily.

Dean stared into Sam's face, covered in bandages and residual cuts and bruises. He saw the hurt in Sam's eyes left from the emotional and physical torture, and he couldn't contemplate anything worse happening to him. It would crush him. "One of us is going to have to live without the other. We're not both making it through this, man. And you…you deserve to live more than I do. You're better. You'll make it through."

Sam felt tears well in his eyes, and remembered the nightmares he'd been having. About Jessica telling him he was evil, corrupted. "I'm not so sure I deserve anything," he said softly. "Don't you think something's wrong with me? That I'm different since you brought me back?" Sam's voice was quiet, unsure. The recent experience seemed to have weakened his resolve.

Dean stared hard into Sam's hazel eyes. And he saw…his brother. No hint of evil, no sign of corruption. It was the same Sammy he had always known, one that had lived through darker things but had still made it through.

"No," answered Dean. "I don't."

_**FIN**_

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**Alright, well I kinda hate the ending. But review! Please! A bunch of you have this on alerts and favorites that I haven't heard from yet…please…just push the little purple button… *puppy-dog eyes* **


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